Bash, Rewritten
by singyourheartout287
Summary: A re-telling of the episode Bash, 5x15, with a closer look at how Blaine deals with what happens when Kurt tries to intervene during a hate crime.


The call sends Blaine into a frenzy. For a split second he thinks it's a joke, or he's fallen asleep reading _Star Wars _fan fiction to Sam, but it feels too real and in the moment Sam lays a hand on his shoulder and asks him what's wrong, he realizes it's not a dream.

It's really happening.

"Kurt-Kurt, he's-" and _god _he can't even say it. "He's hurt. He's in the hospital. Something happened, we-we have to-" He feels like he can't breathe, he can't get enough air to finish a complete sentence.

Sam just nods and tries to get him to breathe and says, "Alright, okay, let's go to the hospital then. Come on, get your shoes. I'll start calling people to let them know something's happened and to meet us there."

Blaine shoots past him and slips on his shoes, grabs his coat, and slides the door open. Sam is following directly behind him, talking on his cell phone but keeping a hand on Blaine's shoulder, keeping him connected and grounded. Blaine is glad he has a friend like Sam who understands what he needs without him having to say it.

Kurt is like that. Kurt knows what he needs without him having to say it. Why would someone do this to Kurt? What if-oh god, Blaine's stomach lurched, because what if this was bad? What if Kurt was like that guy they went to the memorial for? What if he fell into a coma and never woke up?

No, he couldn't think like that. He had to be positive. Sam was hailing a taxi and taxis are yellow and yellow is sunshine and sunflowers and the colors of his kitchen walls as a child when his mother used to sing as she cooked and the power ranger he used to be when he and Coop would play, even though the yellow one was a girl, because his family had always tried to be accepting even before they knew.

Sam was the one who told the cabbie where to go because Blaine couldn't breathe let alone _speak _and even though Sam was talking on the phone, he held his phone in his left hand so he could reach his right hand across his body to let it rest on Blaine's stomach, a subtle reminder to help Blaine breathe.

So Blaine looked down and watched Sam's hand rise and fall on his stomach and slowly his breathing returned to normal, but by that time they were at the hospital and he just got worked up all over again because Blaine had no idea what happened or how bad it was. All the hospital had told him was that Kurt Hummel had him listed as an emergency contact and he'd been brought into the ER and he should come right away.

That meant it was bad. Blaine curled his hands into fists and dug his fingernails into his palms.

When Blaine approached the desk, the nurse working it was on the phone and she held a hand up to him, still speaking to whoever it was. He drummed his fingertips on the desk and leaned forward on the balls of his feet, bouncing minutely. Sam eventually hung up the phone and put his hand on Blaine's shoulder again, forcing him to stand properly and stop shaking.

"Everyone knows and they're on their way," he said.

Blaine could only nod.

The nurse put the phone down and looked up at Blaine. "Can I help you?"

"I'm here for Kurt Hummel. I was told he was brought in not too long ago." How he managed to say it without pausing or dying he'd never know.

She looked down for a minute. "Yes, it says here that you're his emergency contact and fiancé, but I legally can't give you any information because you're not family."

"Not family? You said it yourself, I'm his fiancé!"

"It's not considered a legal relation until marriage. Does he have family you could call?"

"_I'm _his family!" Blaine argued, but Sam held him back again.

"Just call Burt," he said. "He'll want to know what happened anyway."

Blaine nodded, pulling out his phone. He searched for Burt's number and hit the call button, waiting on the verge of impatience because _what happened _and _is Kurt okay_ and _why the fuck won't anyone tell him anything_?

"_Hello?"_

"Burt, it's Blaine."

"_Yeah, I know, kid. I got caller ID. What's going on?"_

Blaine sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Look, Kurt's probably okay, but something happened and the hospital called me down but they won't tell me anything because I'm not family."

"Wait, _what_? Blaine, what the hell happened to my son?"

"I don't know! They won't tell me! They called me down here because I'm his emergency contact but they won't tell me anything because our engagement isn't a legal relation! I have no idea what's going on or why Kurt's here or how badly he's hurt or—"

"Okay, I'm booking a flight now and I'll be there as soon as I can. Let me talk to someone—a nurse or something."

Blaine held the phone out to the nurse. She frowned at it before Blaine said, "It's Kurt's dad," and then took it from his hand.

He watched her talk to him for a minute, nodding and agreeing and explaining that he was brought in because he was attacked. Blaine's heart leapt into his throat and then lodged itself there, blocking his airway.

Sam immediately touched a hand to his back and said, "Breathe, Blaine. We don't know anything yet."

The nurse hung up and handed the phone back to Blaine. "Alright, you've been confirmed as family. I'll let the doctor know to come out to talk to you as soon as he can."

Blaine nodded and let Sam lead him over to a couple of chairs to wait.

"Do you want any coffee?"

"No, thank you," Blaine muttered, rubbing his hands together. He leaned forward in the chair, letting his head fall between his knees. God, he felt like he was going to be sick.

This couldn't be happening. Not now, not so soon after what happened to that other guy, and not to _Kurt. _They were supposed to be safe here, or safer. Things like this didn't happen here. They happened in Ohio, sure, Blaine knew firsthand about that, but he'd hoped they'd escape it.

"_Hah, look at little Anderson go! Trying to get away."_

_Something blunt and hard sailed into Blaine's stomach. The sickening crunch and combined explosion of pain told him something was broken, but he couldn't open his eyes to see. They'd punched him so many times in the face, his eyes were practically swollen shut._

_Someone spit on his cheek, then laughed. "Oh, you're not leaving 'til we're done here, _faggot. _So don't even try."_

Blaine sat up, shaking his head. He forced himself to look around the room, to come back to reality. He hadn't thought about that night in a while and it wasn't fair that he was thinking about it now, when Kurt was the one broken and hurt.

As they waited, their friends started to show up. Mercedes first, then Artie and then Rachel. They all sat together, asking what happened and trying to offer comforting words. They were trying to keep a positive outlook, but Blaine knew now these things went. He'd experienced it. If this was anything like Blaine's own bashing, Kurt would be in the hospital for weeks, undergoing surgery, physical therapy…

At some point a cup of coffee was shoved into his hand. He didn't know what to do with it at first—he didn't want this, didn't need it, couldn't take it because coffee was how Kurt tasted and he couldn't imagine if he never got to kiss Kurt again—but after it sat in his hand for a while, he started taking long gulps, finishing it in minutes. He held the cup out blindly and someone took it from him, probably throwing it away.

"It's going to be okay, Blaine. I'm sure he's fine. Kurt's a fighter, you know that," Mercedes said.

They didn't understand; none of them understood. This was a personal attack on who he was, who Kurt was. This was not a mugging where the assailant was just after money or possessions. This was an attack aimed to hurt, to maim, to kill. The violence was intentional and purposeful, not a necessary evil as a means to an end.

"Family of Kurt Hummel?"

Blaine shot out of his chair and hurried over to the doctor. "That's me. What happened?"

"Kurt was found in an alley after having been attacked. An old woman called the police after she heard shouting and saw a truck driving away, Kurt left on the ground. He suffered a blow to the back of his head and several to his face and his abdomen. He has many cuts and bruises on his face and a hairline fracture above his right eye socket. A few of his ribs are broken, so we've had to set those to heal. His left shoulder was dislocated and there are a couple long gashes across his chest, probably made by a knife, so we've stitched and dressed those and we're going to monitor them to make sure he doesn't get an infection."

When the doctor finally stopped talking, Blaine struggled to find his voice. "God, is there anything else? Did they amputate his legs?"

The doctor offered a sympathetic look. "No, they didn't. He should be fine, though. All of his injuries have been addressed and he's in stable condition right now. He's sleeping due to the painkillers we gave him right now, but you can go in and see him if you'd like."

Blaine turned and gestured to his friends before following the doctor to Kurt's room.

His first thought upon stepping through the doorway was_ What have they done to your beautiful face? _He had a black eye and several other cuts and scrapes. The hospital gown was bulky around Kurt's abdomen, and Blaine knew it to be from the gauze around his waist. His arm was in a sling from the shoulder that must have been dislocated.

He looked so…so…_broken._

"God, look what they did to you," he whispered, sitting at Kurt's bedside and taking his hand.

Despite everything, Kurt looked so peaceful in his sleep.

Their friends were all saying things, but Blaine couldn't hear them. All he could focus on was Kurt, and that he was okay—god, he was _alive_, and not in a coma, and he'd be awake in a few hours, and he was going to be okay.

There were so many things Blaine wanted to say, wanted to tell Kurt. The last time they spoke, it wasn't even about anything. It was Kurt telling him he was going to dinner with Rachel and Blaine telling him he was going to read _Star Wars _fan fiction to Sam again to get him to sleep, and Kurt had only laughed at him and called him a dork and Blaine had said, "Yeah, but I'm _your _dork." It was silly, there was nothing real. Blaine hadn't even said he loved him.

The last time Kurt was conscious, he was probably scared and alone. Blaine just wanted Kurt to know that he was there, and he wasn't going anywhere.

"I just wish he could hear me," Blaine whispered. "So I could tell him I was here."

Rachel said quietly, "He knows we're here. He does."

Because Blaine didn't know what to do, he sang. Kurt always heard him best when he sang, so he leaned forward and sang softly, _"Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around. Nothing's gonna harm you, no sir, not while I'm around."_

He heard his friends shifting quietly, shuffling out of the room to give him privacy with Kurt. As he finished the song, he leaned forward, singing into Kurt's ear. He climbed into the bed next to Kurt's right side, staring closely at the injuries on his face before shifting his body down and wrapping one arm carefully around Kurt's chest. He buried his face into the crook of Kurt's good shoulder, breathing in the scent of him.

It was only then, when he knew that Kurt was safe and in his arms again, that Blaine was able to breathe.

… … …

Blaine didn't sleep at all, afraid that if he fell asleep any movement he might make would jostle Kurt too much and aggravate his injuries. Instead, he spent the two hours just staring blankly at the wall, trying and failing to block out memories of the past.

_The first blow to his head sent him reeling. Blaine had no idea what was happening. One minute, he was standing outside with Jacob after the dance, and the next he was on the ground, holding his head._

_Someone kicked him in the stomach, then whacked him in the back with something hard. There were yells of pain and cries for help from Jacob, but nothing happened. No one came. Eventually the guys—and Blaine had no idea how many there were—found a way to make Jacob stop screaming._

When Kurt finally stirred, Blaine noticed right away. He lifted his head up and stared down at Kurt, watching his face scrunch up then smooth out again. He groaned, turning his head to the right and blinking his eyes open.

"Blaine?" His voice was low and gravelly, like it was right when Kurt woke up or after they'd had really amazing sex.

He tried to keep the trembling out of his voice and said, "Yeah, baby, I'm right here."

"Is he okay?" Kurt asked, clearing his throat.

Blaine frowned. "Is who okay? Are you worried about the guys who attacked you?"

"No, no. The guy I helped. He ran away as soon as I came, but it looked like they were beating him pretty badly. Is he here too? Do you know?"

"You—you helped someone else?"

Kurt nodded, then tensed and groaned. "Ugh, my head hurts."

"The doctor said you were hit in the back of the head."

"Yeah, one of them got me with a brick."

Blaine's stomach lurched. "Kurt, what happened?"

"I was walking home after dinner with Rachel," Kurt said, clearing his throat. "I saw these two guys beating a kid up in an alley, calling him a fag. I rushed in to get them to stop, to show that I wasn't afraid and I wasn't going to let them do this. The guy I helped ran off the second I got there, so they started in on me." He paused, looking down at himself. "They didn't do too much. I think they got scared that someone intervened so they left."

Blaine brushed Kurt's hair away from his forehead and sighed. "God, Kurt, I want to be so mad at you for what you did."

"You would've done the same thing," Kurt pointed out.

"I know," Blaine nodded. "That's why I can't be mad."

After his own trauma, Blaine knew that he couldn't watch violence like that happen and not take action. If it were Blaine walking past that alley, he knew he'd have done the same thing. But it wasn't, it was Kurt, and now Kurt was lying in a hospital bed with broken bones and slashes on his chest.

"They had a knife, Kurt. They could have killed you."

"They wouldn't have. They were cowards."

"That's not the point," Blaine huffed.

Kurt stared at him. "Then what is? Are you saying I shouldn't have done it?"

"No," Blaine sighed. He shifted, shaking his head. "I don't know. I'm just…"

Kurt lifted his right hand to cup Blaine's cheek. "I know. But I'm okay."

"Hardly. You've got broken ribs, big gashes across your chest, a fracture above your eye, your shoulder was dislocated. I thought the doctor was never going to finish rattling off your injuries."

"I'll be fine," Kurt said. "I'll even get scars out of it. Scars are sexy, right?" he asked, smirking at Blaine.

Blaine frowned and looked down. "This isn't funny, Kurt. God, do you realize how scared I was? Getting that call, coming down here? The hospital wouldn't even tell me anything until I called your dad, and then I had to wait forever, and then for the doctor to tell me all that? It was somehow both better and worse than I'd been imagining."

"I'm sorry to have put you through that, but I'm not sorry I did it. I'd do it again, Blaine. I know it's not funny, but it's like you said, this is a lot better than it could've been. You were beaten worse than I was."

"I don't want to think about that," Blaine said immediately. "I don't want to talk about me. This is about you."

"No, it's about all of it. All of the hateful gay bashings that take place every day. If I had turned a blind eye just like everyone else, that guy I helped could have ended up like you, or like Russ, or like Matthew Shepard. These hate crimes happen all the time and no one does anything. It can't go on like this. We need to start taking a stand and doing something."

"I just can't stand the thought of losing you," Blaine murmured.

Kurt gave him a small smile. "I know. I'm not going anywhere, I promise. But I couldn't just let those guys beat someone and not do anything."

"I know," Blaine said.

They fell silent, and after a beat, Kurt said, "Your shoes are on the wrong feet."

"What?" Blaine looked down, and sure enough, they were. That explained why his feet had felt weird. "Oh. I didn't even notice. I got the call to come down here and I just threw them on."

"I really did have you worried, didn't I?"

"You have no idea."

"Come here," Kurt said, trying to bring Blaine's face closer to his.

"Kurt, I can't kiss you, you're hurt."

"My lips aren't hurt, dummy."

Blaine laughed softly, leaning in and giving Kurt a light kiss on the lips. "I love you," he said.

"I love you too," Kurt said. Then, after a pause, he changed the subject. "So, you called my dad?"

"Yeah, I had to. They wouldn't tell me anything. Plus, he deserved to know anyway."

"He's going to be so pissed."

"_I'm _pissed."

"No you're not."

"I could be."

"No you couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm in a hospital bed all bruised and broken and you'd feel too guilty about it if you were."

Blaine sighed. "Yeah, that's true."

"Don't forget I know you. I know all your secrets, Blaine Anderson."

"And I know all of yours."

"You do," Kurt agreed.

For a while, they watched TV in relative silence. They spoke more through their bodies—through Blaine's gentle touching of all the injuries on Kurt's body, and Kurt's comforting hand resting lightly on the side of Blaine's neck.

Then, Burt Hummel arrived, asking for a moment with his son alone. Blaine got out of the bed, careful not to shift Kurt too much, and went to grab another cup of coffee, now that he could actually taste it. He checked a clock in the hall by the vending machines and balked realizing it was nearing midnight. It wasn't that late, really, but later than Blaine thought.

He leaned against the wall by the vending machine and nursed his coffee, sending out a quick text to Sam that Kurt had woken up and was doing okay. Sam replied quickly and said he'd relayed the information on to everyone else and they were all wishing Kurt well and would visit the next morning.

As Blaine pocketed his phone, Burt came out of Kurt's room, shutting the door and looking around. When his eyes fell on Blaine, he marched over.

"How the hell did you let this happen?"

Blaine's eyes went wide. He opened his mouth to answer, but found he couldn't offer a sufficient one. "Burt, I—"

"What happened to all those promises to protect my kid, huh? All the promises you made to me and to him? 'Don't worry, Burt, I'll take care of him.' That's what you said, isn't it?"

Blaine nodded, "Yes, and I've done my best, but I don't know his schedule as well anymore now that I moved out."

"Yeah, and that's another thing, why the hell did you move out? You were supposed to be watching out for him, and you left him alone? What were you thinking? You know, in my world, a man's word is sacred. You tell someone you're gonna do somethin', and you do it. So why couldn't you keep your word?"

"This was out of my control, I wasn't around," Blaine tried to explain.

"Well that's your job, isn't it? To be around? To stay close to my son and make sure nothing happens to him?"

"He's an adult, I can't watch him all the time. I'm not his babysitter; I'm his fiancé. There's only so much I can do."

"If you can't protect him from something like this," Burt said, leaning in, "then what the hell are you good for, huh?"

Before Blaine could defend himself, Burt was stalking away. Blaine dropped the half-full coffee in his hand and found his way to the nearest bathroom, leaning forward on his knees and trying to remember how to breathe.

"_If you can't protect him from something like this, then what the hell are you good for?"_

Burt's words rang through his ears, over and over again, taunting him.

"_Stupid little good-for-nothing faggot. No one would even miss you if you were gone, you know. We'd be doing the world a favor."_

It killed him that his own father-in-law's words reminded him of the hateful things spat at him as he'd been beaten by a group of ignorant jocks. He tried to get a grip, bringing his head to his chest and trying to feel the way it would rise and fall with his breathing, but it was going too fast and he felt so out of control.

"_This was out of my control."_

That's what he'd said, to explain the situation to Burt, but it felt like such a helpless thing to say, and suddenly the weight of responsibility fell down on his shoulders. He should've known where Kurt was, when Kurt was going to be home. He should've been alarmed when Kurt wasn't home on time, should have called, should have done something. This was his fault. It was all his fault.

"_It's people like you that are making the world go to shit."_

God, what wasn't his fault?

He fell down on his knees, running his fingers into his hair and trying to get the voices to stop echoing in his ears, the past and the present mixing in a cruel broken record in his mind. He felt like he was having a heart attack his heart was beating so fast, and the room was spinning a little, tilting on its axis. Nothing was right.

Kurt was in the hospital and it was Blaine's fault and Burt was angry and it was Blaine's fault and people were getting beaten up and it was Blaine's fault and everything was Blaine's fault.

"Kid, you gotta start breathing," someone said. It sounded like Burt, but it couldn't be, because Burt hated him now, because he let Kurt get hurt. "Blaine, come on, you're going to make yourself sick if you don't calm down."

Blaine looked to his side to see who was kneeling next to him and it _was _Burt.

"You shouldn't be here," Blaine panted, shaking his head. "You should be with Kurt, making sure he's okay."

"Kurt's fine, Blaine, you're the one that needs help."

"I don't deserve it. I did this. It's my fault. I don't deserve help."

Burt sighed. "Look, I'm sorry about what I said. I didn't mean it. I'm pissed at the guys who did this to my son and I had no one to take it out on but you. This wasn't your fault."

"All my fault," Blaine repeated, shaking his head and starting to cry. "It's all my fault."

Burt brought him into a sort of awkward hug for a moment before pulling away and making Blaine look him in the eyes. "This was not your fault, Blaine. Some random guys did this to Kurt, and you couldn't have known it would happen, and you couldn't have prevented it. I'm sorry I blamed you."

Blaine nodded, but he didn't really know what to say, mostly because although his breathing had slowed down he still felt frantic.

"Just try to breathe normal, okay? You're gonna pass out if you don't stop hyperventilating."

He nodded again, staring at a spot on the wall. He tried to take a deep, measured breath in, counting to eight, and then blew a deep breath out, counting to eight again. He did it several more times until his breathing had returned to normal.

"I'm sorry," he said immediately, not meeting Burt's eyes.

"Hey, no, you have nothing to be sorry for. I shouldn't have said any of that. I was way out of line." Burt paused, and then said quietly, "After Finn, I've just been so worried ever since you called me. I was terrified, and I lashed out. I was worried for my son. But that didn't give me the right to yell at you the way I did and I'm sorry."

Blaine took another deep breath, just to be sure, and said, "If I could do something and make it me in that bed instead of Kurt, trust me, I'd do it."

"Don't talk like that. You've already been in that bed and you don't need to go through it again," Burt said, voice hard and stern.

"Is he still doing okay? Did he need anything? I should get him coffee or something, I'm sure he's—"

"He's fine. Are you?"

Blaine paused. "Yeah. I'm okay now."

"Alright. How about you and me go back in there then, okay? And put your shoes on the right feet. That can't be comfortable."

Blaine looked down and realized that his shoes were still on the wrong feet. He took them off and switched them around before following Burt back into Kurt's room.

Kurt immediately frowned. "Is everything okay? What happened?"

"I—" Burt started to say, but Blaine interrupted him.

"Everything's fine. I was just letting myself have a minute, that's all. I was just really worried about you."

Kurt smiled sadly and patted the bed beside him. "You can come curl up with me again."

"Yeah, that'd be nice," Blaine said, walking over to the bed.

He curled up next to Kurt and calmed down again, feeling Kurt's warm body safe next to him. Burt told them he was going to go check into a hotel and get some sleep and he'd be back the next morning, then left.

"You should go too," Kurt said. "You need to get some sleep."

Blaine shook his head. "I'm not leaving your side. I'll sleep here."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Kurt leaned his head down to rest his cheek on top of Blaine's hair, turning his head slightly to kiss the top of Blaine's head. "I really am sorry I worried you this much. I didn't think about what would happen afterward; I just knew I had to help that guy."

"I know," Blaine said, brushing his thumb back and forth over Kurt's waist. "I'm just glad you're safe now."

After a long pause, Kurt said, "Me too." It was so quiet, Blaine could barely hear him, but he could hear the tone in Kurt's voice in just those two words, and he knew then that Kurt was more scared than he was letting on. He'd wanted to help that guy, and he'd been very brave, but being brave didn't mean you were fearless. It meant you had fear but you pushed past it to be strong and conquer those fears.

_Courage, _Blaine had told him years ago. He realized now that Kurt never had to be told to be courageous. It was who he was.

… … …

Burt flew back to Ohio a couple days later, and only a week after he'd been admitted, Kurt was released. His injuries had healed enough that he could recover fully at home.

Blaine fussed over him as they packed his things and left the hospital.

"Watch your head," Blaine said as Kurt climbed into the cab. "But be careful; don't bend too much, it'll hurt your ribs."

"I know what's going to hurt on my own body, Blaine," Kurt sighed. He was obviously exasperated, but Blaine couldn't help his worrying.

When they arrived back at the loft, Blaine helped Kurt out of the cab and wrapped an arm around Kurt's waist, guiding him gently up the stairs.

"It's really not that bad, Blaine," Kurt said. "I can walk on my own."

"I just want to make sure you're okay," Blaine insisted.

Kurt rolled his eyes, but Blaine could see him smiling. "You know, if you start doting on me too well while I'm injured, I might expect this kind of treatment all the time."

"I'd be happy to give it," Blaine said.

"I'm going to repay you when I start feeling better."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mmhmm. With a blowjob that's going to make you come harder than you've ever come in your life."

"Is that all?"

Kurt shoved him playfully. "Jerk. Now you don't even get that."

"No, wait, I want the super blowjob back!"

"You can't have it."

"Can I make it up to you?"

"I'll think of something."

When they reached their floor, Blaine kept his arm around Kurt's waist as they walked to the door and slid it open for him.

"Surprise!" Everyone shouted.

Kurt laughed as Rachel, Mercedes, Artie, and Sam all stood around the kitchen table where balloons were tied to chairs and a cheesecake was in the middle of the table.

"Welcome home," Mercedes said.

"We're glad you're okay," Artie said.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, we were all really worried."

"But to celebrate your homecoming, we have cheesecake!" Rachel said, gesturing to it.

"And I have to share it with all of you?" Kurt asked.

Blaine scoffed. "Of course not. That entire cheesecake is yours. There's a secondary one in the fridge for everyone else."

"Mmm, I knew there was a reason I loved you," Kurt said, smiling as he leaned in to kiss Blaine.

So they all sat around the kitchen table and ate cheesecake, the others talking animatedly about their weeks. Rachel was smart, for once, and chose not to add her own life to the discussion as it was still a sore spot after their argument, and Blaine was grateful for that. He didn't want her ruining the good spirits of Kurt's return home.

After they had all eaten and talked, Mercedes announced she'd better be getting home, and Sam said she'd go with her, and then Artie said he'd go with them so he wouldn't have to ride the subway home alone.

"You can go too," Kurt said after they'd left. "I'll be fine here."

"Is it okay if I stay?" Blaine asked.

Kurt nodded, smiling. "Of course."

If Blaine was being honest, it was as much for his benefit as it was for Kurt's. He hadn't been sleeping well—plagued with nightmares about the attack on Kurt and his own from back at the Sadie Hawkins dance—and he was hoping that sleeping next to Kurt would comfort him enough to keep the nightmares away.

It didn't.

Blaine woke up in a panic dripping sweat. He sat up and looked around the dark room blearily, trying to calm himself down.

_It was just a nightmare. It wasn't real. Kurt is here and he's fine._

Just to make sure, Blaine looked to his side and saw Kurt sleeping peacefully. He patted Kurt's hip absently, glad to see him safe, but that only served to wake Kurt up.

"Hmm? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Go back to bed," Blaine whispered.

"You go back to bed," Kurt said.

Blaine chuckled. "Okay, but you first."

"No, you first."

Kurt was the cutest when he was half-asleep like this, always like a child.

"Kurt, just go back to sleep."

"You go back to sleep."

"Okay, I will."

"Okay. Lie down."

"Not just yet. I think I'm gonna go get a slice of cheesecake."

Kurt opened his eyes and frowned at Blaine. "Without me?"

"Kurt, you don't need to be getting up to get cheesecake in the middle of the night. You're still recovering. You need to sleep."

Kurt threw the blankets off with his good arm and grumbled as he got out of bed. "Thinks he's gonna get cheesecake without me. Yeah, right. No one eats cheesecake without Kurt Hummel. It's just not right." He paused at the curtain and turned around. "Are you coming or not?"

Blaine sighed and got out of bed, following Kurt into the kitchen. He forced Kurt to sit down so he could get the cheesecake out and cut them each a slice, serving them on plates and setting one down in front of Kurt and the other down in front of his chair.

"Mmm. Cheesecake," Kurt muttered, getting a big forkful and shoving it in his mouth.

They ate mostly in silence until Kurt had eaten half of his piece. Then he looked up at Blaine and said, "So are you going to tell me what's bothering you?"

Blaine sighed, knowing it was futile to try and deny it. Kurt always saw right through him. "I've been having nightmares ever since you were attacked. I can't sleep."

Kurt reached a hand over and held Blaine's. "Oh, honey. I'm sorry."

"No, it's not your fault. It just sucks."

"What are the nightmares about?"

"Well, it starts off with me at the Sadie Hawkins dance, standing in the parking lot waiting for my ride. And then these guys come up and they start beating me, and it's almost exactly like it happened, except instead of Jacob, it's you. And they're beating you, and you're calling out for help, and they hit you in the head with a metal bat and you fall unconscious. And I can't do anything but watch them do it and take my own pain."

"I'm so sorry," Kurt whispered, squeezing Blaine's hands. "That must be awful."

Blaine nodded. "It is."

"I think I have Ambien, if you want to take some and see if that helps."

"Yeah, that's a good idea."

So Blaine took the pills Kurt offered him and threw them back, swallowing them with a cup of water Kurt had gotten him.

"Do you need any pain medicine?" Blaine asked, reminded of Kurt's pills.

Kurt shook his head. "I'm okay for now. It's nothing I can't handle."

"If you're in pain, you should take them."

"It's small pain. I don't need them yet."

"If you say so."

"I do. Now let's go back to bed. That stuff is gonna knock you out within minutes."

Blaine followed Kurt back to the bedroom, crawling into bed with him again. He scooted close to Kurt under the covers, propping his head up by his elbow and staring at Kurt's face in the moonlight. "Your face has gotten a lot better."

"I know. Soon no one will even be able to tell I was attacked."

"Except for the giant scars that'll be on your chest," Blaine said, fingers hovering above the gauze bandages still covering the stitched up cuts. He'd seen the gashes when one of the nurses had come to redress them and it was brutal. Two long, thick, scraggly lines across the beautiful planes of Kurt's chest.

"Yeah, but not a lot of people get the privilege of seeing me shirtless," Kurt pointed out, smirking at him.

Blaine smiled. "And what a privilege it is. My fiancé is the sexiest man alive."

Kurt shook his head. "That can't possibly be true, because _my _fiancé is the sexiest man alive."

"Whoa. We're two lucky guys, huh?"

"It looks like it."

Blaine finally let his head down, leaning his forehead against Kurt's temple on the pillow. "I am so glad you're okay, Kurt," he whispered.

He felt Kurt nod against him. "I know. I am too."

Blaine fell asleep with his arm hanging lightly over Kurt's chest, careful again not to let it put too much pressure on him. He was finally able to sleep with no more nightmares, and when he woke up, Kurt was still safe beside him.

After a few weeks, Kurt's face had healed completely, and his cuts had scabbed over and were healing beautifully, and his ribs were doing better, and he didn't need the sling for his shoulder anymore. It was almost as if none of it had ever happened.

Except it did. And Blaine was reminded of that every time Kurt said he was going out or walking alone somewhere. So when Blaine approached the topic of him moving back in with Kurt and Kurt agreed, it was like a weight lifted off his shoulders. They'd have to set new boundaries and work everything out, but this way, Blaine could always make sure Kurt was safe.

That was the number one thing. That Kurt was safe. He'd made a promise years ago, and he made it again in that hospital bed the first night Kurt was admitted, and he intended to keep it.

_Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around._


End file.
